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THEY WERE FREE TO GO WHERE THEY CHOSE 6
KNOCKED HIS BROTHER DOWN 40
HE STARTED OFF FOR A NIGHT'S RAMBLE 72
THEY LIVED IN THE FOREST AFTER THAT 109
THE MARSH SEEMED SO EMPTY AND LONELY 127
COLLIE CHASED HIM AWAY _Frontispiece_ 138
TWINKLING WITH HUNDREDS OF TINY LIGHTS 157
IN WINTER THEY TURNED WHITE 178
THE MICE MAKE WINTER THEIR PLAYTIME 195
THE HUMMING-BIRD AND THE HAWK-MOTH 218
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MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS:--You can never guess how much I have enjoyed
writing these stories of the night-time, and I must tell you how I first
came to think of doing so. I once knew a girl--and she was not a very
little girl, either,--who was afraid of the dark. And I have known three
boys who were as brave as could be by daylight, but who would not run on
an errand alone after the lamps were lighted. They never seemed to think
what a beautiful, restful, growing time the night is for plants and
animals, and even for themselves. I thought that if they knew more of
what happens between sunset and sunrise they would love the night as
well as I.
It may be that you will never see Bats flying freely, or find the Owls
flapping silently among the trees without touching even a twig. Perhaps
while these things are happening you must be snugly tucked in bed. But
that is no reason why you should not be told what they do while you are
dreaming. Before this, you know, I have told you more of what is done by
daylight in meadow, forest, farmyard, and pond. It would be a very queer
world if we could not know about things without seeing them for
ourselves, and you may like to think, when you are going to sleep, that
hundreds and thousands of tiny out-of-door people are turning, and
stretching, and going to find their food. In the morning, when you are
dressing in your sunshiny rooms, they are cuddling down for a good day's
rest.
I think I ought to tell you that I have not been alone when writing
these stories. I have often been in the meadow and the forest at night,
and have seen and heard many interesting things, but my good Cat,
Silvertip, has known far more than I of the night-doings of the
out-of-door people. He has been beside me at my desk, and although at
times he has shut his eyes and taken Cat-naps while I wrote, there have
been many other times when he has taken the pen right out of my hand. He
has even tried running the typewriter with his dainty white paws, and he
has gone over every story I have written. I do not say that he has
written any himself, but you can see that he has been very careful what
I wrote, and I have learned a great deal from him that I never knew
before. He is a very good and clever Cat, and if you like these stories
I am sure it must be partly because he had a paw in the writing of them.
Your friend,
CLARA D. PIERSON.
STANTON, MICHIGAN,
April 15th, 1901.
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